


Known Donor

by Kestrel337



Series: Known Donor [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/F, Parenthood, Sperm Donor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-15
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-04-09 12:25:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4348706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kestrel337/pseuds/Kestrel337
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly and Sally ask Greg for some help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Known Donor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [logarhythms](https://archiveofourown.org/users/logarhythms/gifts).



> Mathandcello was the winning bidder for my offering during the Rupert Graves Birthday Auction. All money went to Wild Futures, a monkey sanctuary in Cornwall.
> 
> She asked for Molly/Sally, with them wanting a baby and Greg being their donor. This is the result. 
> 
> This was a new direction for me, and I really loved writing it. Enjoy, and thank you for your generous support of such a wonderful cause!

Mid-November

“Hey, boss. Gotta talk to you.”

Greg looked up from the mountain of paperwork on his desk to see Sally hovering in the doorway. He waved her in while clearing a space in front of him. “What’s up, Donovan?” 

When she closed the door behind her, he quirked an eyebrow and ignored the tightening in his gut. _Let her tell it. Let her set the tone. It’s her news and nothing to do with you. Not publically._

“I’m going to need to go on desk duty, sir. Effective...well, pretty much as soon as you can make it happen.” The wide grin belied the apology in her voice. “I know it’s rough, and short notice, but…” her voice rose several octaves “I’m pregnant.” 

He couldn’t help smiling, but fought to keep it to professional levels. “Congratulations. I’ll get it processed right away. It’s likely you’ll be moved to a different team; Hopkins, probably.” 

“Fair enough. Just let me know. Meantime, I’ll start working those files for the Humboldt case?” She stood, preparatory to leaving.

“Yeah, that’d be good. I’ll keep you posted.” 

“Great. And, Sir? Thanks.” Her face went serious. “For all of it.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” He let his eyes tell the real story. “Leave the door open.” 

He’d thought, at the time, that arranging her change in status without giving anything away, would be the hardest part. She got switched to Hopkins’ team, and things moved smoothly along for several months.

But then the phone call came, that she’d been admitted two weeks before the official due-date, one week before she’d been due to take leave. And of course, he couldn’t ask for more details than a concerned colleague, a worried friend, might request. He wished for a witness to interview or a call out or, less guiltily, for a cold-case lead. One with some urgency to it.

The news finally came, by way of e-mail the next morning: Sally and Molly were delighted to announce the arrival of Greer Hooper Donovan on July 9, 6 pounds 3 ounces, all doing well. 

He sent his congratulations by the same medium, and resolved to wait a couple of weeks before visiting.

 

The Previous July

Molly had just drawn the drapes against the rapidly falling darkness when Sally appeared from the kitchen with the coffee tray. Greg raised his eyebrows even as he leaned forward to help clear the cluttered coffee table for her.

“So formal; feel like I should be wearing a tie.” 

“Maybe I just felt like being civilized for a change.” The words and tone were light, but there was no challenging smile, no eye contact at all. 

Greg frowned and began preparing Molly's cup. “Still milk, no sugar?” 

“Yes, thanks.” She settled into the loveseat facing Greg and linked hands with Sally. Silence descended for a long moment, the women looking anywhere but at Greg. Up until now, the evening had been as many others, Molly arriving home from work as Sally and Greg finished conferring about one case or another, inviting him to stay for dinner and coffee after. Friendly, he’d thought. Normal. There’d been a few murmurs from the kitchen while they stashed away the leftovers, which Greg has assumed was the usual conversation between married folk but now suspected had been something more. 

“Something on your minds, then?” His eyes flicked from one to the other.

Molly took a deep breath, and nodded. “We...wanted to ask you something. Um. Well. It’s been a year, now, since the wedding. And. Well. You see.” 

Sally patted Molly’s knee. “Let me tell it; we’ll be here all night the rate you’re going.” She turned to Greg and met his eyes squarely. “I’m just going to put this out there, but I want you to know we don’t expect an answer tonight. You can have some time to think about it.” She stopped, took a deep breath, and said, “The thing is, we want to have a baby.” 

Molly nodded vigorously and jumped back in. “But we don’t want an anonymous donor. I know they screen people, and have them fill out forms, and do checks and all. It’s fine, and we’ll do it that way if we have to, but it’s possible to have someone you know donate. Someone you know is healthy, and smart, and decent. Someone like...you.” 

Greg opened his mouth, closed it again. Looked from Molly, to Sally, and back again. Surely not. “I think you need to be extremely clear about what you’re saying, here.” 

Sally made an impatient noise. “We’re saying we want to have a baby. We’re saying we’ve talked about it a lot, and we’d like you to be our donor.” She opened the drawer under the coffee table and handed him a couple of pamphlets. “These are pretty basic, but they should answer the immediate questions.”

“Right.” He licked his lips, glanced around the sitting room. Carefully, deliberately, he set his undrunk coffee on the table in front of him.

They didn’t say anything, bless them, but just stood together and walked into the kitchen. The radio came on, and he heard dishes clattering in the sink. Stacking the dishwasher, while he sat there, gobsmacked, though not for the reason they perhaps suspected. The central question, was he willing to help someone else make a baby, was one he’d already answered. He’d looked into it a year or so ago, discovered he was too old to be an anonymous donor, and let the matter drop. 

Now, here were two of the most amazing people he knew, asking for his help. He quickly skimmed the information from their clinic. No age restriction, but several medical tests. That shouldn’t be a problem. Sally and Molly would be listed as parents, and how to handle the information was up to them. The next section gave him pause: _When using a known donor, the question of rights and responsibilities should be discussed prior to conception. Because very few legal guidelines currently exist, patients and donors are encouraged to seek the advice of a qualified law firm that specializes in family law. Open communication, clearly understood expectations, and legal documentation will help to prevent misunderstandings and costly court proceedings at a later date._

 

And that was the real question, wasn’t it? When he’d applied, he’d been certain that not knowing was fine; anonymous donor, rights and responsibilities signed away. Remaining uninvolved in those theoretic lives was no great stretch or hardship. But a child he knew? Could he remain distant and uninvolved? Was that what they’d want? Maybe they’d be very open about the information; although there’d be difficulties with work if they went that route. The middle ground, being involved but without disclosing the specific details, had some appeal. Honorary uncle? 

But these were details; things to be discussed all together. Legal counsel was a good idea. But none of that could be discussed until he’d given Molly and Sally his answer. He headed into the kitchen. When he opened the door, both women turned, trying to hide the apprehension in their gazes. 

He looked at Molly. “You couldn’t have decided this when we were dating?” 

She colored even as she glared. “It was one date. Not even. Half a date. Or half with you, and half with Sally, since she saw me home.”

“Best favor I ever did him,” Sally put in.

Greg rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Glad I could help. On that, and...on this other thing, too. But we’ll need to work out the details.”

“There’s a law office we found, specializes in this sort of thing. We’ll get an appointment.” 

 

August

A beaming Molly opened the door, exclaiming when she saw the bundle of balloons clasped tightly in Greg’s hand. 

“I know,” he defended himself quickly, “balloons are a choking hazard, but I figured right now she’s not going to be grabbing ‘em. And all the websites said she’d like bright colors to look at…”

Molly nodded solemnly, but her dark eyes twinkled merrily. “They’re fine, Greg. Come in, please. I’m so glad you’re here when she’s awake.” 

The sitting room had changed since his last visit. Bumper cushions wrapped the coffee table, and the mini-blinds had been removed. A convertible travel cot stood in one corner, cheerful moons and stars dangling from the bar that arced over the occupant. Sally greeted him with a hug, a few remarks about their co-workers, and then gestured for him to sit on the sofa.

“I know you’re not here to talk about work. Ready to meet our girl?” She didn’t wait for an answer, just scooped up the baby and, after a brisk check of her diaper, settled her into Greg’s arms.

“No, wait...I haven’t washed my hands or anything…” He looked around for the bottles of hand sanitizer he’d been told invariably went with newborns, but didn’t see any. The baby - Greer, he reminded himself - was warm and surprisingly heavy where she nestled in the crook of his arm. 

“We’re not that sort of parents.” Sally wasn’t quite glaring at him. 

Molly explained while she tied the balloons to the back of a chair. “Knew a baby once, my cousin’s first. They protected him so hard. Hand sanitizer in every room, the house was spotless all the time. When he was 18 months he got hold of a dirty tissue and chewed on it like they do. Picked up a cold, his first one ever, ended up in hospital for a week.”

Greg was only listening with half an ear, his eyes fixed on Greer’s tiny face. Enormous dark eyes, soft brown skin, the faintest wisps of dark hair. Her lips pursed with a startlingly loud smacking sound, and she kicked her feet against his thigh. “That’s it, darling. Big strong girl!” 

The simulated shutter sound from Sally’s phone made him look up, and she quickly snapped a couple more. “Oh, that’s a good one. We’ll print it for you, if you’d like.” 

“I...I know I’m not to be daddy…”

“No. We never did decide how to call you, but Molly and I were thinking...godfather? In the more modern context, anyway. You know; child-minding, marking milestones with extravagant gifts. Being there for her when she’s got things she won’t bring to us.” 

“What do you think, Greer?” He watched her lips push in and out, then turned his grin on her mothers. “I think she likes it. I know I do. Godfather it is.”


End file.
